


Between a Rock and a Hard Place

by crackinthecup



Series: Ends and Beginnings [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Melkor has a surprise for Mairon.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Ends and Beginnings [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112774
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elevenelvenswords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenelvenswords/gifts).



Mairon sipped his wine, settling himself more comfortably among the pillows in Melkor’s bed. He had entertained himself with the wine and the book splayed across his lap for a good long while. Towards the end of his dinner with Melkor a messenger had come knocking, drawing his master away at the behest of the captain of a newly returned expedition. Melkor had promised he would return as soon as he was able, and so Mairon had stayed.

He was just wondering how much longer Melkor would be, and whether he would mind if he finished off the bottle of wine, when the door opened.

“My lord,” he greeted with a genuine smile, setting both the wine and book aside and turning his full attention to Melkor. “What news?”

“They think they’ve come across a secret path into central Beleriand bypassing the Noldorin encampments.” Melkor took off his boots and shrugged off his robe to remain just in his shirt and leggings. Mairon unashamedly stared: the wine had set desire simmering low in his belly, and it was making it difficult to focus on military strategy rather than matters of an altogether different nature.

“I will send out scouts tomorrow to investigate further,” Melkor continued, catching Mairon’s eye, the hint of a smirk playing about his lips. He climbed into bed and leaned over Mairon to pluck his wine glass off the bedside table, then settled himself at his side and reclined against the headboard.

“That would be a timely opportunity for us, if it turns out to be viable.”

Melkor inclined his head in agreement, drinking deeply of the wine. “Let’s worry about it when the scouts return.”

They lapsed into placid silence. Melkor nursed his glass of wine, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, and eventually Mairon made to turn to pick up his book once more, assuming his master simply wanted a restful evening after his meeting.

He was stopped in his tracks by Melkor’s hand on his thigh, nails raking over the thin fabric of his trousers. Mairon openly shivered, book entirely forgotten, legs splaying wider in invitation. He could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. His breath came a little faster as Melkor’s fingers dipped inward trace the outline of his length, teasingly retreating after only a couple of light strokes.

Mairon couldn’t quite stifle his sharp intake of breath as Melkor knelt up and straddled his hips. Melkor’s fingers curled over the side of his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Mairon eagerly parted his lips, sliding his tongue against Melkor’s own. He could feel himself beginning to stiffen, a rush of arousal flowing through him at the warm feel of Melkor pressed so closely up against him. And from the delighted chuckle against his lips, he knew that Melkor could feel it too.

He broke off their kiss, pushing Melkor backwards ever so slightly so he could tug off his shirt. He trailed his fingers down Melkor’s chest, savouring his gasp as he boldly brushed over his nipples, slipping lower to trace the hard planes of his abdomen and the scars clustered there. He was just about to burrow beneath the waistband of his leggings when Melkor batted his hands away.

“Patience, Mairon, else this is going to be a long night for you,” Melkor chided, pressing a deep kiss upon his lips to silence his noise of protest. He unbuttoned Mairon’s shirt amid fervent little kisses, leaving Mairon to shrug it off as he withdrew to sit at his side. His hand slipped between Mairon’s legs once more, giving him a squeeze that had Mairon helplessly grinding his hips upwards. He started to pluck free the lacings on Mairon’s trousers, moving deliberately slowly, steadfastly ignoring every hitch of Mairon’s breath, every little beseeching roll of his hips. Mairon eagerly took off his trousers once he was done, letting them drop to the floor along with his shirt.

Melkor guided him to lie down fully upon his back. Mairon busied himself with rearranging the pillows, his master’s attention momentarily slipping from him as he rummaged through the bedside drawer A length of rope was coiled in Melkor’s hands when he turned back to him. There was the glint of a challenge in his eye; the smile on his lips was eager, roguish, _hungry_ , and it nearly stopped the breath in Mairon’s lungs.

“Give me your hands.”

Mairon complied. Melkor expertly bound his wrists together, pushing his arms up above his head and securing them to the headboard. Mairon experimentally tugged against his bonds; they did not yield an inch, and arousal flickered like a bright star in his belly at the thought of his helplessness.

Long minutes trickled past as Melkor gleefully toyed with him. Fingers trailed feather-light down the corded muscles of his arms, swirling in teasing circles over his chest. Melkor leaned down and kissed him, more roughly this time, all tongue and teeth. A hand came up to pluck at his nipple, deceptively gentle: over and over and over again until he was writhing with the mounting intensity of the sensation.

Melkor’s lips left Mairon’s own to trail open-mouthed kisses down his throat. He sucked a bruise into the sensitive skin there, then another and another, a trail of florid lovebites standing in such brilliant contrast against his pale skin. His head dropped to his chest, teeth closing over a nipple even as his tongue laved over it in wicked little flicks, drawing a wanton moan from Mairon’s lips.

His master switched to his other nipple and Mairon strained against the rope coiled over his wrists. He longed to bury his fingers in Melkor’s hair, tug his head upwards to kiss him again, take him in hand and guide him between his legs and –

He yelped as Melkor suddenly dipped lower still, pushing his legs wide to lie between them and kiss a bruise into the innermost flesh of his thigh. Mairon instinctively tried to close his legs against the sting of the bite, but his master’s hands held him lewdly spread.

Melkor’s lips brushed down to the juncture of his buttock and thigh. His teeth sank into the tender skin there, hard, leaving a dark bruise blooming in their wake. He whimpered with the pain of it, he panted with the arousal still fizzing undimmed through his veins, and Melkor finally, _finally_ obliged, licking a hot stripe up his length. His head thudded back, the hurt of the bites blurring into perverse pleasure, yes yes _yes_ , wanting his master to take him in his hand, his mouth, anything to relieve the pulsing need in his belly.

Melkor pulled away just before his tongue reached his tip.

A noise of frustration scored out of Mairon’s throat before he could stop himself.

Melkor delivered a vicious smack to his inner thigh in reprimand. “Hush, now. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise, my lord?” Mairon asked, curiosity jolting him out of the rancour of his thwarted arousal. “What is it?”  
  
“You’ll find out.” Melkor’s smile was _depraved_ as he pushed himself up to kiss him on the lips once more.  
  
“Should I be scared?” Mairon asked playfully once their lips parted, making to press himself back into the kiss.

Instead Melkor grabbed him in earnest, bodily flipping him over so he was lying on his belly. He leaned over him, pinning him to the mattress, and Mairon squirmed beneath him as his cock twitched in unbidden interest.

“Yes,” Melkor murmured against the shell of his ear.  
  
“My lord –” Mairon began indignantly, but Melkor grabbed him roughly by the nape of the neck and shoved his face into the pillows, muffling all further attempts at protest.  
  
He felt Melkor shift his weight, heard him rummaging through the bedside drawer once more. He could do little more except lie there waiting, heartbeat lodged in his throat, mulling over endless possibilities of what Melkor may have had in mind. And then his master was kneeling between his thighs, forcing them to spread wide. Melkor slid his hands beneath his hips, urging him to draw his knees beneath him, leaving him deliciously exposed. He gasped as Melkor cupped his bollocks, rolling them in his hand. He arched his back, giving Melkor better access as he continued to tease him, his trepidation melting away as Melkor’s ministrations sent brilliant flashes of pleasure through his nerves.  
  
But soon enough Melkor’s touches upon him stopped being gentle. He grabbed him firmly and Mairon felt something smooth and cold closing around him, felt it tighten, and he whined with the growing discomfort of it. He tried to move, to dislodge that weird pressure, but found that he couldn’t. The humbler – that’s what it had to be, he had seen one before, he had _used_ one before – extended across his thighs, forcing him to remain on his knees, to remain spread and exposed and vulnerable.  
  
“Oh, Mairon,” Melkor murmured, and the naked lust in his voice set paralysing need roiling in his stomach despite himself.  
  
Mairon flinched violently as the leather thong of a riding crop tapped against his trapped bollocks. The thong was thin, designed for cruel precision. Blind panic scratched up his sternum as he realised there was nothing, nothing at all he could do to stop Melkor from whipping him raw if he so wished.

“My lord…” he began, unable to keep the dread from his voice, not quite knowing what he wanted to say. He forced himself to breathe, desperately trying to convince himself that it wasn’t going to be too bad.  
  
“Shh,” Melkor murmured and Mairon relaxed a fraction at the gentleness of his tone.

But a second later the riding crop slashed down against his bollocks.

Mairon yelped, instinctively trying to curl his hips inward, away from the blow, but the humbler would not let him and he only succeeded in tugging painfully on his bollocks.  
  
Melkor hit him again before he had a chance to draw in a steadying breath, a light smack then another and another and _another_ until Mairon lost count. The stinging impact of each blow mounted upon the pain of the last until he was writhing, inadvertently yanking on his bollocks, the sharp agony of it leaving a light sheen of sweat over his skin.

Suddenly Melkor broke his rhythm, hitting him with vicious, bruising force. A scream tore from his throat; instinct overrode his thinking as his body thrashed wildly, trying to get away from the riding crop, from the awful, constricting pressure of the humbler, but his efforts only served to make the hurt of it all _worse_.

“Such complaint, little one,” Melkor tutted. “I’d almost think you weren’t enjoying it, but you are dripping all over the sheets.”

Mairon buried his flaming cheeks in the pillows, not even bothering to bite back his moan when Melkor took his cock in hand, thumb gliding through the wetness at his tip. It was true: the soreness thudding through his pelvis only served to fuel the dark pulse of his desire, leaving him achingly hard and wanting.

Melkor’s fingers slipped from him and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the next blow. But Melkor did not hit him again, not yet. He leaned over him, guiding a ball gag past his teeth none too gently, buckling the straps tightly at the back of his head. Melkor had coated the gag in his own stickiness and it trickled onto his tongue, filling his mouth with his own taste, and he whined with the utter depravity of it.

Melkor’s hand returned to his cock, stroking him slowly and surely, even as he picked up the riding crop once more.

Mairon couldn’t really tell how long it continued. The ache in his pelvis spiralled with each fresh blow until it crowded out his awareness of all other things. He screamed and panted and squirmed to no avail. He could feel his cheeks growing hotter with each passing moment, a mortifying shade of purple bleeding even up to the tips of his ears. Each strike seemed crueller than the last, and even though Melkor’s hand never left his cock the pleasure of it barely even registered. A distant part of him knew that Melkor wasn’t hitting him that hard, he wasn’t doing any real damage, but against such swollen, sensitive flesh the blows were excruciating.  
  
“Please,” he said over and over, distorted through the gag, until Melkor finally, blessedly decided to take pity on him.

Distantly he heard the thud of the riding crop as Melkor discarded it to the floor. He bit down hard on the gag to keep himself from shrieking as Melkor released the humbler and blood flowed back into his abused flesh. Melkor smoothed a gentle hand over his bollocks, cupping them lightly, and he choked as that sensation swamped him, brutally crashing through his nerves, magnified into an intensity almost beyond endurance.

He hardly noticed as Melkor reached for a vial of oil with his other hand, liberally coating his fingers in it, swirling over his entrance. Without preamble Melkor pushed two fingers up inside of him, twisting past the tight ring of muscle, and Mairon flagrantly ground his hips back until Melkor’s fingers filled him to the knuckle. For one glorious moment the pleasure of it cut through the persistent, throbbing agony in his bollocks, pushing him far beyond the point of caring that he was making a sordid display of himself.

All too soon Melkor withdrew from him. He shamelessly whined at the loss of contact, arousal pounding like a physical ache through him. But Melkor was done playing his games, and he didn’t leave him waiting long. He deftly slicked himself up, positioning his hips behind Mairon and sinking into him in one long, slow thrust.  
  
Mairon made a desperate little noise low in his throat. The stretch burned; Melkor had opened him too hastily. But he welcomed it with savage joy, panting through his gag as Melkor filled him utterly and nudged against that one spot that made his eyes roll back into his head.

Then Melkor started moving inside of him and the world seemed to melt away. His master set a firm rhythm that knocked the breath out of his lungs. Melkor’s bollocks were slamming into his own with the force of his thrusts, the contact intensified tenfold by his whipping, the pain of it bleeding through the pleasure and transforming it into something else, something more, a violent, consuming sensation that he _adored_.

Almost deliriously he titled his hips back to meet Melkor’s thrusts, torn between chasing his release and wanting to lose himself forever in this debased, exultant tangle of sensations. He cried out as Melkor fucked him faster, _harder_ , each press of Melkor’s cock up inside of him becoming truly brutal. And when his master reached around to stroke rough fingers up his cock in time with his thrusts, Mairon could do little more than grip into the sheets and moan.

He spilled before he was even aware it was going to happen. He clenched hard around Melkor’s cock as he came, drawing a curse from his master, trembling as his orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave. Distantly he was aware that Melkor reached his peak too, grasping his hips with bruising force to keep him still as he rutted into him through his own release.

His orgasm lasted for long, burning seconds. When the last tremors finally faded, Melkor had already withdrawn from him and had shifted to sit down next to him, deftly undoing the knots at his wrists and the buckle of his gag.

He felt that movement was a little beyond him. His limbs seemed filled with molten lead. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears. Everything ached.

He settled for simply stretching his legs out, burying his face in the pillows as he willed his breathing to return to normal.

Melkor busied himself with untangling the covers from where they had been kicked to the floor. He settled himself at Mairon’s side, draping the covers over them both.

With an effort Mairon rolled onto his side, placidly blinking up at his master. Melkor gave him a warm smile, drawing closer to him so Mairon could curl into his chest.

“Enjoyed yourself?” Melkor asked him, gently stroking the dishevelled mess of his hair back from his cheeks.

Mairon nodded, raising his head to plant a soft kiss on Melkor’s lips. “Did you?”

He could feel the curve of his master’s lips against his own as he smiled. Mairon knew that particular smile. Indulgent, but hungry. Full of dark promise.  
  
“How could I not? You were exquisite like that.”  
  
Mairon made a noise caught somewhere between happiness and mortification.

Melkor chuckled, cupping his cheek, caressing a thumb over his cheekbone so tenderly that Mairon melted into the touch. “We’re definitely doing this again.”


End file.
